Plasticity
by The Fictionalist
Summary: Normalcy wasn't the most exciting of landscapes to dwell in, but she could handle it. Fate, it would seem, had other ideas. Post IE; ignores FE & RS. Leslie/Irial, slight Seth/Niall and Irial/Niall.


Disclaimer: The following characters and the world to which they belong are the property of Melissa Marr and Harper Collins Publishers.

A/N: This fic takes place post _Ink Exchange_ and excludes events from _Fragile Eternity _and _Radiant Shadows_.

Plasticity

Chapter One: The Encounter

Her world had been transformed. She was thankful for some of the changes, of course. After a couple trips to the police station and a few calls, she'd discovered that both her father and brother had been sentenced to jail time for child neglect and drug dealing, respectively. _His_ work, she suspected.

While she'd felt shocked, maybe even a little lost at first, she'd quickly realized the benefits of her position. Now, with Aislinn's generous contribution to her new apartment, she should be happy. She finally had what she'd always wanted. Even her brief encounters with Ren's old drug dealer buddies on the streets couldn't shake her. Where once they had leered at her suggestively, reaching out to her and beckoning in their lascivious self-confidence, now there was only fear, confusion, wariness.

A flash of memory. The satisfying crack and crush of a man's wrist bones beneath her hand. A sudden rush of power and exhilaration to replace her otherwise oddly emotionless, placid existence.

Leslie closed her eyes against the dizzying images, the lingering feelings which had not left her in their entirety since she had Niall burn the tattoo from her back.

Life had moved on after her last encounter with _him_. It was oddly suitable that, just as he had introduced her to the world of faerie, he should be the one to release her from it.

Their conversation played back, bittersweet in her mind.

_"If you wanted to stay..."_

_"I can't."_

_"You'll tell me if you need anything?" _

_"No. I'm pretty sure seeing you- or Niall- is a bad idea...I don't want this world. I want to go live my life, be normal, and sort out what happened- before you." _

_"You'll do well, better than if you had stayed."_

He had looked so vulnerable in that moment, so human, as he would allow only her to see. _His Shadow Girl_. Was she still that person, the girl he had loved and cherished in his own way, despite his nature, despite his duty as King of the Dark Court? The title caused a shiver to sweep through her. She still felt a sort of lingering belonging, like rather than 'the Dark Court', it should be '_their _Court'.

She was no longer that emotional, fragile girl from before the tattoo. Nor was she the strange ghost of a person she'd been while that shadowy, feathered rope had still connected them. _Who was she then?_ That vine had recently decayed entirely, snapping off her last connection to _him_. He had changed as well, she knew, though he had not voiced it.

And what he _had_ said, back then, for it seemed so long ago now, separated by the wall of reality, by the plodding pace of clarity, without the rush of euphoria to make it all blur together, to take her from the pain and the fear, those negative emotions she had been so desperate to purge and...

Those words, that she'd be better off without him, were both truth and lie.

* * *

Maybe wearing four inch high heels to school hadn't been such a bright idea. While the new heels had made her feel incredibly tall, _incredibly hot_, and had given her some of her old confidence back, tripping over herself and having near death encounters on the stairwells of Bishop O.C. had been red flags that her money might have been better spent on a nice pair of flats instead. _You'd think those months spent in fancy designer heels would have made her used to the added height by now_. Leslie drowned out the line of thought, unwilling to drag herself down memory lane yet again. Though, the designer outfits had been one of the better perks of-

"Leslie," a nervous female voice broke through her thoughts before she had the chance to berate herself again. Carefully pivoting herself on the newly dubbed heels of death, Leslie turned reluctantly towards her friend.

Still in the rebuilding stages of their relationship, she and Aislinn's conversations were usually uncomfortable at best and something she liked to avoid when she could. _She would never act such a coward while they'd been connected. _But that had been false confidence. She hadn't been herself, more of a shell, really, hollow and pliable, readily filled and directed by the emotions and will of others.

Giving her former best friend a half hearted smile, she cheerily replied, "Hey, do you mind if we talk later, I'm expected at Verlaine's in like," she glanced at the wall clock, "fifteen minutes and after being absent for so long, they kind of-" Leslie stumbled through her excuse, only to be broken off.

"Look, I understand," here Aislinn looked uncertain, _she wasn't the only one_, "I just felt like maybe we could talk. It's been so long and I know that we haven't been on the best of terms since you-" She stopped, looking stricken, as if she'd spoken some great taboo. "I'm just worried about you, okay. About us. Just- I'll call you later, alright? I wouldn't want you to be late for work."

Nodding, Leslie gave another tentative smile, this one more whole-hearted, and made her way down the school walkway, careful not to get her heels caught in any cracks.

* * *

Irial watched her, eyes riveted to her form, his gaze lingering lazily over her features. She looked happy. Of course, she'd been happy before, amidst his faeries, _by his side_, but this was different, more natural. Her eyes were shadowed by lack of sleep and a worry line creased her forehead. Yet, her lips tilted up in a smile and the smile reached her eyes.

He sharpened on that smile, the lips that were so strangely perfect, _perfect for him_, despite their thinness. They beckoned him. His hand twitched, flicking ashes from the cigarette slowly burning in its loose hold, smoke curling from the end, obscuring his line of sight.

Leslie turned from where she'd been conversing with a fellow waitress and walked over to his table, pencil in hand. As she got closer, she readied herself for the routine- the pasted smile, the fake laughs, the courtesy expected of her. He could read her body language easily. She didn't even look at his face. Not that it would have mattered, veiled as it was by glamour. He would have liked to meet her eyes, though, if only as a stranger.

Irial gave a wry smirk at his inner monologue. A former King of the Dark Court, reduced to the bodyguard of an inconsequential mortal girl, possessed by thoughts of said mortal girl, and unable to even reveal his presence to her because of a promise, because of love. He believed mortals had a word for those such as he. Stalker. And now he was starting to remind himself of Niall...how pathetic.

Finally coming to stand in front of the table, Leslie's lips moved, probably rattling off some nonsense he might have been interested in if he had actually come for the food. Though, he _did _have a different appetite in need of sating.

He stared a bit, having not been so close to her in months. It was a risk he was taking now, he felt. There was little chance of her seeing through his glamour. She was mortal, after all, _but his Shadow Girl still_, and though he had abdicated his throne, he was still more powerful than most. Despite this, he feared, perhaps irrationally, that she might recognize him somehow.

She looked at him expectantly now. Irial was tempted to ask her to order for him whatever she'd like, but discarded the idea quickly. He couldn't have a repeat performance of the last time he'd come to the little restaurant. Standing out in any way would be foolish, _would break her trust in him_. Grinding out the dwindling cancer stick, he glanced down at the menu, running off the first couple of items he saw.

Leslie nodded absentmindedly, scrawling a few words and reaching across the table for the menu. So close. She was so close. He had only to reach out a slight amount and his hand would brush just across hers. He was sure it would feel like heaven, that brief contact. And would it really be so terrible? Even if she felt anything from the touch, a passing sense of pleasure, it would not be anything prolonged enough to arouse suspicion as to his status as a Gancanagh, _as a faery- the very kind she had vowed to avoid_.

There was no doubt she would recognize him should he indulge in contact for too long. Niall had seen to that. Now that they had switched places, so to speak, Irial felt a sudden empathy for the other fae.

While he had never before cursed his addictive nature, his newfound emotions put him in a bit of a dilemma. Should Leslie ever decide to rescind her decision to abandon the faery world entirely, they would still be separated. No mortal could survive a relationship with a Gancanagh. She would be in a drug-induced haze before long, seeking his touch only for the pleasure of another quick fix.

Though these thoughts weighed heavily on his conscience, the overpowering need to feel her skin and his very nature worked against him. The temptation was just too strong. He couldn't resist; the Dark fae had only so much restraint. _Only this once._

Skin brushed against skin. A shock of pleasure raced down his spine. He savored the moment. The regret set in immediately, however, as Leslie looked at him in something akin to shock. The connection between them felt suddenly tangible, as would a phantom limb. He could very nearly taste her panic, her fear and excitement. It was only the faintest glimmer of flavor and he was left wanting after its quick passing, an insatiable hunger once dormant having been lit.

Leslie backed away with a dazed expression, the menu sliding through her fingers, forgotten. Trembling, she ran a hand through her wood-brown hair. Seeing her look so much like a deer in the headlights caused him to feel...remorseful. He had the sudden need to take her into his arms, protect her from the world, make her pain go away. How could he, though, when _he _was the very thing that she needed protection from?

Before Irial could change his mind, he pushed back from the table. In one graceful blur of motion, the door swung behind him as he exited the restaurant and Leslie was left standing, menu in hand, and a niggling sensation in the back of her mind. Familiarity. Deja vu. Like some incredible opportunity had just passed her by and she hadn't even been aware of it.

A/N: I already have another chapter written, but I'm unsure whether or not this fic is worth continuing as of yet, due to the fact that I'll be going back to school soon and it will take some effort to keep up with at least somewhat regular updates. So give me some feedback, tell me what you think as well as any suggestions that you might have! XD


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